The Witch and The Vampire
by Psychobillybutterfly
Summary: Maeve Flynn, Graduate of Hogwarts class of 1999, Ravenclaw House and Liaison of Albus Dumbledore to Wolfram and Hart and the Newly reformed Watcher's Council under Rupert Giles is sent to LA to aid the Fang Gang.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.**_The very beginning of this story is a brief summary of the first appearance of Spike in the Angel Series. It is there for simple introduction into the storyline and seemed a good place to start the chapter. This is a Crossover with Harry Potter but is non Hallows Compliant. Now offically Betaed!_

**Chapter 1 - The Heart of Darkness**

Angel ripped opened the envelope and out poured an amulet onto the floor, an amulet that was strangely familiar. The grey gem sparkled moments before a whirlwind appeared, flashing with an ethereal fire and ash accompanied by a high keening of immense pain. The Fang Gang all stepped back from the swirling mass. In a sudden flash of bright light, William the Bloody materialized from where the amulet lay.

Spike gasped, craving that clean, albeit unnecessary air in his lungs. The cave, the white hot burning of death was gone and he was looking at a mass of confused faces, and a green skinned demon, all of whom he didn't recognize. He felt better knowing they shared his confusion, but doubted they also shared his dizziness.

"What-w-what?"

"What the hell are you doing here, Spike?" Harmony said, stepping fully into the room with her hand on her hips.

"Harmony, Please," said a man Spike thought he recognized but the memories were coming back confused. As he looked closer, words came to mind. Watcher, Wesley something, Buffy didn't like him; Spike didn't remember he seeming so… well, sure of himself the last time he'd been in Sunnydale. But that was years ago, before the chip, before his and Buffy's… whatever they'd had; time changes everything.

Even a spineless, stuttering Watcher it would seem.

"This is Spike? _The_ Spike?" A young black man in a suit asked, the boy smelled of magic and lawyer. Spike didn't like either smell.

"Wait a minute, who's…" a little twittering bird of a girl tried to speak above the men. She was pretty but far too slim, even for Spike's liking.

"Easy there slim, easy, no one is going to hurt you," The green demon with the horribly bright clothing spoke, but at least his tone wasn't as aggressive as the others.

"Speak for yourself, Green Jeans," the boy again, definitely too much like the Whelp for Spike's taste.

"Okay, would somebody please tell me who," the little bird was tweeting again. Focusing was becoming easier, thankfully the room had stopped spinning.

"William the bloody, he's a vampire, one of the worst recorded; second only to…" stupid Watcher, he was starting to sound like self-righteous Rupert.

"Me," Spike recognized that voice, would never forget it and the feeling of hatred and annoyance it invoked. Full recognition hit him when he saw Angel. All pomp that one is, Spike thought.

"But you're dead," Angel said in shock and anger, he couldn't conceal the surprise and denial at what stood right in front of his eyes. Spike was rooted to the spot, staring at his grand sire until Harmony, the stupid ditz of a girl, spoke, not realizing the situation.

"Well, yeah who here isn't? Besides him, and him, and her," she paused now, but Spike kept his eyes on the vampire in front of him, "And, what are you again?"

Spike changed into his game face, the sound of bones crunching as he did. He bared his fangs with a growl and lunged. Angel didn't even have time to protect himself with the speed Spike came at him, and then suddenly through him. It had felt like wind going through his body, not cold or warm, simply movement. Angel turned to see Spike standing directly, well, in his desk. They all stood staring at the blonde vampire, until he looked up.

"Bugger?" he said, unsure that it was even a proper word for it.

The next few days were spent trading insults with Peaches, being scanned by the bird, Fred, and making an all out annoyance of himself until Wesley finally got on the phone to a man named Weasley some kind of Minister in England.

Maeve Flynn walked into Wolfram and Hart with her head high, but her fear stowed safely in her pocket. Her dark hair was pulled back, small curls fluttering out as her Victorian style boots clicked on the marble floor. The battles of the light side were not merely seated above the Hellmouth. The dark had its feet firmly planted in the old countries and she had fought too many battles there for it to have any comfort of home to her anymore. She had wished to leave England for a time and Albus Dumbledore had given her a job that sent her as far from her homeland as he could. Her people kept themselves separate from the world of the non-magical for a reason, to keep their battles small and to take care of their own.

A letter delivered by a snowy white owl and ending in a signature few could say no to had instructed her to come to the United States; Los Angles, California to be precise. So here she was, stepping into the heart of darkness as it was, intent on doing as she was instructed; no matter what her gut told her. Walking through the doors of the mystic law firm Maeve went straight to the front desk.

"Maeve Flynn to see Mr. Wyndam-Pryce," she said, her voice full of authority and strength that she barely felt in the pit of her stomach. The man, dressed in a red blazer, looked down at his clip board, perusing the names he found there. Checking one with a red pen he nodded to the diminutive woman, giving her wizarding robes a cursory glance.

"Ms. Flynn, welcome to the LA branch of Wolfram and Hart," he said coming around from his desk. "I'll have to ask you to check your wand, you may retain it, however we at Wolfram and Hart insist on being able to monitor you while you are in the building," he said his voice pleasant enough as he held his hand out. With years of experience garnered from visiting the Ministry of Magic, Maeve pulled her wand out of her sheath and placed it in the guard's hand. He nodded, placing the wand on a scale that appeared on top of the desk before them. The wand glowed faintly; the man wrote something next to her name before returning the wand to its owner.

"Thirteen inches, Rowan wood with a Dragon heartstring core. You'll take the elevators up to the top floor and Miss Harmony will see you to Mr. Wyndam-Pryce. Please have a good day, Miss Flynn," he said politely with a smile. She wondered when evil had become so friendly; it could be so easy to fall into their trap since they seemed so nice. Then she thought of her last year at Hogwarts, where evil had shown itself to be a sugar sweet, frog-faced woman dressed in pink and shook her head as she rode the elevator alone. The doors opened to reveal a very pretty, smiling blonde woman. She wore a brightly colored tank top and a very revealingly, very short skirt.

"Hi, I'm Harmony, it's so awesome that you're here. My Blondie Bear needs your help pronto like," she said, offering her hand to the overwhelmed witch. Something changed in the air when Maeve took the blonde bombshell's hand, the scent of her demon flooding the brunette's senses and she crushed the vampire's hand even tighter. Her smell crackled against the witch's skin, making it crawl. Harmony winced in pain as the woman that had been sent to help Spike crushed it with strength no ordinary woman should possess.

"Slayer," Harmony hissed, her face quickly morphing.

"Vampire," Maeve spat in the same instant, reaching into her robe for a stake and sprang at the snarling vampire, her training and instincts completely taking over. She had landed only one kick to the chest and single punch to the jaw when one of the red blazered security guards had her pinned to the ground with a taser millimeters from her throat.

"Please stay down, Miss Flynn, this is all a misunderstanding," a guard said, while three others tried to hold her down. But they were no match for her and she had them thrown off of her effortlessly, and in moments was on the escaping vampire.

"Boss!" She screeched as she made it to the heavy double doors across the room. Maeve followed the creature into the room, only to pause in shock when the blonde didn't burst into flames. The room was flooded in raw sunlight, the occupants of the room stared in wonder at the girl that had just chased one of their own.

"Boss, the guards let a vicious, crazy Slayer in here," she whimpered as she stood behind a broad, dark haired man. The closer Maeve got the stronger the stench of vampire became.

"Angelus," she crowed; her wand out and ready, since her stake was forgotten in the lobby, discarded in the initial attack. "Petrificus Totalus," she shouted, flicking her wand at the two vampires. They stiffened, falling to the floor with a thud. She began advancing on the demons when a man rushed into the room, blocking her access to the vampires.

"Move aside, Muggle," she commanded, her voice a rushed snarling sound and her wand pointed at the man's face.

"Muggle? Hardly!" the English man looked affronted, "I am Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, formerly of the Watcher's Council and 1975 graduate of Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, Prefect and Head Boy. Stand down, there has been a misunderstanding and I cannot allow you to slay my boss," he stated, his bravado never faltering.

Maeve held her wand still outstretched, cursing Albus Dumbledore, the Minister of Magic, Harry fucking Potter and whatever deity that had deemed her to be a Witch and a Slayer at the same time. Searching the eyes of the man before her; she just wasn't sure. He could be telling the truth, someone had to have contacted Minister Weasley. Why had the Headmaster sent her so under-prepared?

This Wyndam-Pryce would have spent time at Hogwarts with Professor Snape and the self-proclaimed Marauders; it was inevitable they were the least and most popular people in school, respectively. Her time with the Order of the Phoenix had given her privileged knowledge that would sniff out if the scruffy man in front of her wash indeed telling the truth. With her wand still posed at his face she began an array of questions, about Hogwarts and about the Wizarding world in general. He answered each one correctly but she needed more specific information.

"Who are the Marauders?" she asked with a satisfied smirk. From his eyes, she saw only laughter.

"The Marauders were a bunch of Gryffindor pranksters by the names of James Potter, Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew and Sirius Black," he answered. Maeve let go of the breath she hadn't even been aware of holding and released the two vampires from their immobility. She was calm and about to re-sheath the wand when Spike came through the wall. She had been startled by the newest ghostly intruder, but the moment Maeve looked into his grey-blue eyes, his stock of white-blonde hair and his confident swagger, she felt a panic grip her that she hadn't known since the final battle against Voldemort. She scrambled away from him, pushing Wesley back in her attempt to escape.

"Flipendo," she shouted, flicking her wand at the new intruder. A gust of magical wind knocked everyone else in the room down with sheer power, but the blonde man remained unharmed. In fact it appeared to have no effect on him at all, not even a hair was out of place. She placed a large couch in between herself and the now slightly startled man, her wand still pointed at his chest. Though she appeared calm, her stance immobile, her eyes were wild and her nostrils were flaring for air that she couldn't seem to find.

Spike held out his hands to the woman, a Slayer if the whisperings around the Office were true. He was amazed to see she was a Witch as well, a proper one unlike Red, who was all elemental and goddess-like. This was his kind of magic, Wesley's too if he were to believe what he'd heard before materializing. He'd just gotten the knack of that, going in and out, and loved to scare the shit out of Peaches when he could. But this woman, her whole body snapping with power and energy, was not who he wanted to frighten, hell this was someone sent to help him and you never piss off someone whose meant to help you. He'd thought Wesley had everything under control.

"Put the wand down, luv, I'm a ghost… I think, you can't hurt me with it," he said, stepping through Wes to make his point, holding his hands out in a placating manner

"See, I can't hurt you either." Then she said the one word that made him pause, the one word that made sense out of all her actions.

"Malfoy," she spat, her breaths coming harsh and labored as she began to sob, though her wand hand never wavered and her eyes never left his own. Her body ached in remembered pain at the sight of his familiar features; it remembered the hours of white hot hexes thrown at her in a dungeon and in battle once she had been free of him. But most of all she remembered his violating touches on her raw flesh and his laughter at her tears. Maeve had felt this same panic, when she had seen Lucius Malfoy across the field during the final battle.

Mad-Eye had always said you needed to really mean it to cast a successful Unforgivable curse. When that jet of green light had blasted from her wand she had meant it with every fiber of her being. But when his body had fallen, his eyes still wide in shock, she hadn't felt much of anything. She still felt only the emptiness of the victory. Had he even known it was her at the end of the wand? The battle had raged through the night against Voldemort's followers; the Werewolves, Troll, Giants, Dementors and Vampires charging through the darkness. The tide of the battle had risen against the inhabitants and protectors of Hogwarts and the small group of Slayers that had found refuge at the school. One last onslaught was made; give everything or lose it all had been their motto as they rushed the demons that night.

But she remembered, in the moment she was down, her back on the wet ground next to Hagrid's hut with a vampire snapping at her throat and her wand a few feet off, the power had rushed through her body and she knew with all that she was, that she'd inherited a power that increased her strength tenfold. The war was won that night with the help of sixteen young women taking out a legion of demons with swords, wands and their bare hands.

Spike took a step back, lowering his hands as the girl's wand hand began to shake from fear. The old him, the one before Buffy, before his soul would have laughed aloud at such a reaction. The smell of her fear would have been nearly as delious as her blood and he'd have reviled in it. But that spark in him made him wonder at what one of his cousin's kin had done to the girl to cause such a pain filled look in her dark eyes. She was a pretty thing, strong but somehow a look of sorrow seemed to float out of her, a look that made this demon want to protect her, keep her safe even though she could take care of herself. He'd felt that way about Buffy once upon a time. Her hair and eyes were dark, her clothing a mix of Wizarding and Muggle that instead of making her look odd gave her a romantic quality that was timeless. Spike watched as Wesley started to talk her down but her large eyes never left his and he felt oddly responsible for the woman. And when the former Watcher had gotten her calmed again he slipped back into the shadows while they called for the rest of the team.

**End Chapter 1**

_AN: An amazing thank you to my new Beta for this fic, MDDC26. Without her I never would have gotten this fic back on track. As always review feed the writer!_


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.**

_Authors Note: I just wanted to state that this story is DH compliant. Basically, Snape did kill Dumbledore but the old man was a big faker. I also wanted to just FYI that I'm having the Hogwarts Final Battle taking place at the same time as Buffy and the gang are taking down the First. I'm doing this so that the Potentials that I have hiding at Hogwarts received their full powers during the battle. _

_Big thanks to my Beta, Melissa, without whom this story would still be sitting around doing nothing! As always reviews feed the author!_

**Chapter 2 - Fractured Spirit**

"How do we know she won't go Slayer scary on us again," Harmony whined, hanging on tightly to a wincing Gunn's arm. Maeve shifted uncomfortably at the blonde vampire's words as everyone looked at her. She could tell they were all thinking the same thing, even though some seemed ashamed of it. Wesley had kept her wand before sitting her down on the couch she'd been keeping between herself and the Malfoy look-alike. The man had disappeared for a moment but had reappeared when all seemed calm again; standing in the alcove by the double doorway.

"Have her sing," he stated, Maeve jumped at the cool sound of his voice while everyone else just looked at him in confusion. He sighed, held his hand up to indicate that they wait, and walked through the wall. The door opened a few moments later and Maeve nearly leapt out of her skin when the ghost returned on the heels of a dark green demon. But she stayed in her seat when no one else seemed to be alarmed by his presence.

"Oh yeah! Have her sing for Lorne so he can read her," Harmony said, sitting herself down in one of the comfortable looking chairs, as though this solution had been oh so obvious to her. Lorne, his suit so garish it almost hurt her eyes, moved towards the nervous and somewhat hex happy Slayer. With the care one adopts with wild animals he knelt in front of her. She tensed when he touched her hand but she didn't pull away. Seeing she wasn't going to panic, he took both of her hands in a reassuring squeeze before he began speaking.

"Now, my little turtle dove, this is how it's going to work. You're going to sing me a little song, anything you want, until I tell you to stop. I'll use my mojo and read you to give us a sense of you aura, it'll give me a hint as to whether we can trust you not to attempt to kill the darling employees here at Wolfram and Hart. Just to make everyone feel better," he smiled with a wink, his face open and eyes kind.

Being so close to a creature considered "dark" by Ministry standards made the little hairs on the back of her neck stand up, but the kindness reflected in his red eyes was enough to allow her to nod in agreement, if not entirely understanding. Besides, the Ministry was wrong about so many things, not to mention their ideas on vampires made her either want to knock their heads against a wall, or laugh herself into hysterics. It was entirely possible, that these 'Dark Creatures' weren't really that dark after all. Lorne took the chair just opposite her, one of her hands still clasped firmly in his. "Alright, little bird, sing me a song,"

Maeve sat still, wanting to curl up into a ball and protect herself from these people. Instead, she closed her eyes and thought of the only song that expressed her feelings of late. The song was sung by a crazy haired American witch and, in the last year, had become an anthem of sorts to express her feelings.

"_One night to you, lasted six weeks for me,_" her voice wasn't as raw as the original singer but it was on key, strong and had a pretty quality that Lorne wasn't used to. He could have read her with that one line but he was, for once, encouraging the singing and he wanted to know more about her. So he let her finish the song after he'd heard the first few notes. "_Just a bitter little pill now, just to try and go to sleep. No more waking' up to innocence, say hello to hesitance to everyone I meet. Thanks to you, years ago, I guess I'll never know what loves means to me,_" she kept singing, and had been staring into the eyes of the demon before her when she felt him fall into her mind. The blonde effigy of the man who had tortured her for what seemed to be days was just visible out of the corner of her eye. She cringed as he moved to lean against the wall but kept singing. The words came swiftly from memory, flooding out as she felt the vague tingle of the seer reading her.

Lorne shifted his sight gently from her future into her past, something he rarely did but was still proficient at. He saw the happiness of her youth and felt a pang of jealousy at the love spread warmly through each family member. He watched her years at school, training hard at mastering witchcraft and learning to fight the evil in a forest beyond her school's grounds; her Watcher, a ragged, patch-worn man with graying brown hair, ever present in the shadows.

He saw the fall of darkness over her school, witches and slayer, their Watchers abandoned in the chased of masked cloaked figures and the First's Bringers. He saw her sadness as she, being the oldest girl, took charge and tried to get them to Rupert Giles but failing in her task when they were captured by cloaked Wizards she thought of as Death Eaters. Brief glimpses of the time spent with the Malfoy she feared and whom Spike reminded her of; the final battle with a dark wizard, and the fall of her Watcher, a stern looking man with a strange whirling eye. The demons and vampires beating back the students and the glorious overwhelming feeling of euphoria as the Slayer powers were released fully onto her and the other girls.

Lorne felt he needed more information on the man with Spike's features and shifted back towards the girl's memories of him. Following her line of thought from the moment she saw Spike, traveling further into her past. He watched it in brown sepia tones unfolding into her fears. Lorne felt her pain and wanted to shrink away from it but he stayed and followed it forward like a horror movie.

The woman was tied to a wooden pole, her robes and dress here gone, only a cotton shift remaining. Her hair was longer, sweat revealing the natural curl her current style hid, partially covering the bruises forming around her face. Other girls; some mere children, were in similar states but Maeve's was the worst. The room was dark, and Lorne thought that perhaps he could smell the moldy memory of the cold, stone cell. Maeve's lifted her head at the sound of the locks clicking and a voice saying an incantation to gain entrance.

A tall, angular man entered the room, ordering another cloaked man to watch the door. His face was hidden behind a silver, ornate mask, but wisps of white, blonde hair crept out of the hood he wore. Lorne watched helpless, as the man languidly strode over to Maeve, his wand out.

"Mr. Malfoy," she said, her voice cracked and popped with dryness wrought from dehydration and overuse. He crouched down beside her before lowering his hood. With a slight flick of his wand, the mask vanished in a swirl of charcoal grey smoke. Lorne started when the thin stream of candle light revealed a face not unlike that of Spike. The same sharp features, same icy blue eyes and the confident posture. Although in this man, it seemed more a quiet arrogance.

"Miss Flynn, we've been after you and your ilk for awhile now. You lead us on quite the merry chase. But you really should have stayed under Dumbledore's protection," when that goaded no response, he gripped her chin, forcing her to make eye contact with him. Maeve did something Lorne considered very foolish, she spat in Malfoy's face.

Judging by the satisfied smirk on her face though, he would assume she felt otherwise.

In Lorne's experience, this type of man usually retaliated in a physical attack. This one simply wiped the spit away, dropped her face and stood. With a smirk similar to one Spike had worn on occasion, he pointed his wand at Maeve and said lazily, "_Crucio_."

Though Lorne didn't recognise the word, its effect was painfully obvious once the jet of sickly yellow-brown light hit the witch. Maeve writhed in pain, her face reddening with the effort it took not to scream. Lorne admired her courage, but felt for this brave young girl. He held the spell for a full minute before releasing her. Crouching again, he tutted her as she regained her composure. He smiled when she faltered, breathing irregularly, but he waited until she looked up at him again before speaking.

"Now Maeve, I would have expected less stupidity from a Pureblooded Ravenclaw," he chuckled as she glanced at the still unconscious girls, "Don't worry about them, my dear, they won't be waking up anytime soon,"

Lorne watched in sick horror as the same spell was used repeatedly until her voice was gone and she began coughing up blood from her worn throat. From the purely magical, he moved on to other, more traditional forms torture, branding with hot irons, slicing her skin shallowly until she was weak from blood loss. The sick bastard took great care to stop the bleeding before she passed out. He wanted her fully conscious when he began removing the cotton shift from her thin shoulders. Suddenly his connection was broken. She stopped singing and took her hand from his.

He blinked rapidly against the suddenly bright light of the office. He looked at the witch; she looked aggrieved, and a little bit angry. It took him a moment to ascertain as to why. Maeve was a witch with a reasonable grasp on Occulumency. So she must have felt his intrusion into her mind, her past.

"Find what you were looking for?" she said with a tight voice. Lorne nodded, reaching over to grasp her hand again.

"Yes, little Slayer-Witch, I did," his voice held a soft sincerity that the present group had rarely heard, "I needed to understand your motives. To see what we needed to do to keep everyone safe and make you more comfortable," She nodded at his explanation, not that she liked it, but she understood the necessity.

"Well, is she safe?" Harmony asked, standing to move behind the dark haired vampire.

"Oh, she is in no way safe but _we_ should be relatively safe from her," Lorne said, his red eyes never leaving her own soft brown ones.

"Well, then, whatever assistance we can offer, Miss Flynn, simply ask," Mr. Wyndam-Pryce stated. The others in the room echoed his statement and she nodded tersely, but first she had to direct her attention to the ensouled vampire formerly known as Angelus.

"Angelus, forgive me, I mean Angel; I would like to apologize for my earlier behavior and to let you know I will do my best to curb my Slayer instincts," she started awkwardly, her posture rigid. Angel moved away from Harmony, who promptly hid behind Gunn to offer Maeve his hand. She took it immediately. Any hesitation on her part would have been detrimental to any further collaboration; she clasped his hand firmly but without her full Slayer strength. It quite an odd feeling because his hands were so cold, but his eyes held the warmth she found lacking in his touch. If she had only taken the time earlier to see past the reputation of the vampire CEO before her, the fight could have been avoided and she wouldn't be rebuilding their trust now.

"Don't worry too much about it, we're kind of used to this sort of thing," he said with a smile, "Not to mention I've done it to more than one of our clients."

She returned his smile as she sat back down, and he moved to lean on his desk.

"I will need any and all data you've complied on, what's your name?" she turned to Spike, addressing him directly for the first time since she spat out the surname of her torturer. His blue eyes widened for a moment but his shock quickly faded as he smiled at the witch.

"I prefer Spike, but I was born William Octavius Malfoy. And as you've pointed out I am related to that git, Lucius Malfoy. He's me many times removed cousin or some such, the wanker," he remarked, his arms crossed and his jacket wrapped securely around him.

She looked at him, really looked at him to see the features of his face. There were features common to the Malfoy family line and there were those that were uniquely his. His eyes, though the same shape and color of Lucius', held a softness, a kindness in them that her enemy's had lacked. Where Lucius' were ice cold blue, William's were sky blue, sunny and warm.

"William," she said firmly, testing his name out before continuing, "As I was saying, I'll need everything you have on William, access to any library you have and I'll need the use of your Floo system," she directed that last request at Wesley. He nodded, turned to Harmony and directed her to have the Department of Magical Affairs set up a Floo connection in Maeve's office.

"Thank you," she said with a sigh. She didn't know where to go from here; the group just looked around uncomfortably as Harmony walked out of the room eyeballing Maeve the whole time as though the Slayer would lunge at her any second. Wesley took the initiative and walked over to her chair.

"Miss Flynn, if you'd like I could give you a tour of our establishment, show you your office, the library and our labs," he said, holding out his hand to her. With a grin she took his hand and allowed the former Watcher to haul her from her spot and took his elbow gratefully.

**End Chapter 2**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.**

Now betaed! We can all thank my beta, Mel, for getting me moving on starting this story back up. Remember, reviews help this weary writer write faster!

Who in the world am I? Ah, that's the great puzzle – Lewis Carroll

**Chapter 3 – Puzzles Solved**

Two Months Later

Maeve shuffled through her notes, scanning the yellow highlighted sections for the information she needed. Weeks of research spilled over her desk, all to save a creature she had been born to dispose of, creating a hazardous looking environment. The first two days of her stay had been difficult for the Slayer in her and she had felt the pull to leave. In every corner of this place there was something Dark; be it creature or the simple reek of ill used magic, it hung in the air like a greasy fog. It clung to her hair and robes, never fully washing off when she showered at night. But after a long Floo to Floo talk with Arthur Weasley, the new Minister of Magic, and Headmaster Dumbledore, she had decided to stay and do what she could to help.

It had taken an alarmingly short time for the blonde vampire spirit to weasel his way into a spot under her breast bone. He could be incredibly charming when he wanted to be; the only positive Malfoy trait she could account for. She began organizing the pages of her research into related piles for easy access when the hairs on the back of her neck prickled. Something was in her room and she turned as the air around her suddenly became chilled, forcing out her breath in visible puffs. For a moment she shivered then grabbed her wand from the sheath at her hip, spinning around in her chair only to find the room empty.

"William?" She asked the air, bare and cold, in an aggravated tone. There was a vocalized sigh, softly in her ear, causing her to jump with a squeak.

"Damn it, Malfoy," she growled, swinging her wand out and casting a spell to reveal him. With a gust of wind his body was melted into view, his face showing his disappointment at losing his source of great amusement. His blue eyes danced with humor and he smiled at her, the common Malfoy smugness visible.

"Ah, love, I was just having a bit of fun," he said, in his time since he rematerialized he'd learned how to fade in and out of view and how to change the temperature around him; he quite enjoyed harassing those still among the living.

"With a Slayer whose already jumpy as hell?" she asked her wand still pointed at the vampire. He shrugged, crossing his arms and pulling his leather trench coat around him. He seemed decidedly put off.

"True, not the best idea, _if_ I were solid, but I find myself barely corporeal at the moment," he chuckled as she sheathed the wand and retook her seat. "I also found myself wondering how my little witch was doing, so I made my way to see you," he said, sitting on the edge of her desk. She looked at him strangely as he crossed his arms. Her brows knit together and she chewed her lip thoughtfully, "What?"

"How are you doing that?" She insisted, moving quickly to stand in front of him.

"Doing what?" He asked, dumbfounded.

"Sitting on my desk… you shouldn't be able to do that if you're a ghost," she said curiously. She knew that ghosts of the vampire, or demon variety never had the same material abilities as those of the human persuasion; so in all logical terms he should not be sitting on her desk, he shouldn't even be able to lean against a wall without falling through.

"Huh," he said glancing down at the desk but no sooner had he looked at the wooden tabletop did he start to fall through it, his arms flailing out wildly. Without thinking, Maeve reached out and grabbed at his arm and somehow, inconceivably, she wrapped her hand around his wrist. Her grip held on long enough for her to be wrenched forward before he lost his form and his arm slide through her hand. Maeve fell forward, hitting her face on the desk. Spike scrambled out from the middle of the furniture while the woman slid to the floor, clutching at her face.

"What the bloody fuck just happened," she cursed, moving her hand away from her swollen and bleeding mouth. He knelt next to her, his hand hovering above her shoulder before dropping it again, remembering he couldn't comfort her physically.

"I don't know," he said. Then, suddenly, the air around Spike changed. The scents of the world, normally enhanced for a vampire, had been stark and stale for him since his death. They had, in a second, become flooded with the raw heat of her scent. It was as though he were seeing in color for the first time. Her achingly sweet scent flooded his nostrils, and the copper tang of her spilt blood called to him. The demon rose past his human soul and revealed itself with a growl.

"What the hell, William?" she shouted, falling backwards and crawling away like a crab.

"I can smell you," he whispered in wonderment edging towards her, she backed further against the wall. Had she been thinking, Maeve would have gabbed her wand or even screamed but the look on his demon face stopped her. It had changed from a vicious hunger to pure curiosity, his yellow eyes somehow warm. She sat motionless as he knelt his face intimately close to hers, sniffing her lip, a rumbling growl forming in his throat. Her breathing stopped, as he looked up at her, their eyes meeting and though he was a ghost, and a vampire, her feminine heart skipped a beat at the sight of his soul past those yellowed depths. And Spike heard the irregular pumping in her chest and smiled. She cringed from the sight of his fangs.

"Can't hurt you, Pet, even if I weren't a ghost... I could never hurt _you_," he stated, his hand hanging in the air just next to her face as though to cup her check before moving away to sit cross-legged in front of her and shaking out his game face. He watched her formulate her questions, her Ravenclaw nature pouring out through the slight furrow in her brow. Again he smiled, his eyes back to their regular blue color and his teeth blunt and white. Maeve regained herself enough to pull her wand out and fix her wound with a simple healing charm, the blood disappearing from her face with a muttered spell. They sat staring at each other.

"How often has this happened? Your ability to become solid, I mean," she asked after a time. He looked up at the ceiling for a moment, deep in thought, before his eyes returned to her own.

"A few times, never been anything this big though," he stated.

"Is there a pattern? What were you doing at the time, where were you? What was the time of day? Were you feeling a certain emotion?" she started to ask in rapid fire succession, standing and moving towards her desk. She grabbed a quill and a lined legal tablet while he remained seated on the floor.

"Whoa, slow down there, love," he chuckled, "one question at a time my little Ravenclaw!"

"Okay start at the top… what were you doing when you first noticed that you were solid,"

"I was with Angel, the first time, I barely even noticed. I was having a laugh at the old man, he'd spilt something, can't rightly remember. But before I knew it I was leaning against his desk, moved out of the way, real quick like, didn't want him noticing nothing,"

"Any other times?" She asked as she wrote, her Ever-Ready quill scratching on the Muggle paper. Spike thought for a moment before speaking.

"I was talking with the little bird, Fred, Peaches came in, and I knocked over the bird's mug of tea, no one noticed then either," he scrunched up his eyes looking to the right as he worked out his memories.

"Is that it? Those were the only other times?" Maeve asked, taking her eyes off her paper to talk to Spike.

"Yeah," he shrugged.

"And how were you feeling those times?" She asked, putting quill back to paper, her brown curls falling forward and hiding her face. Spike, from his vantage point on the ground could see the intensity of her concentration as she waited for his answer. Something in him wanted to reach up and push her hair back, tucking it past her ears and opening up her face but he sadly knew he couldn't.

"Well, Freud, I was laughing both times, so kinda happy I guess,"

"And just now, you were happy too?" She asked, holding her breath in the hopes that her theory was correct.

"I guess... Where you going with this, love? Because if the only way I can be solid again is to be happy all the time, we've got ourselves a big problem," he groused.

"And the other times you were with Angel?" she said, but more to herself then truly asking him.

"Yeah, so?" he asked, but she had begun writing and muttering to herself, "Love... Love... Maeve?" he finally yelled, her head jerking up, her brown hair falling away from her face.

"What? Oh yeah, one more question," she said with a smile, and he shrugged, indicating for her to proceed, "Where were you before you came in here?"

"Walking down the hall with me grand-sire," he stated suddenly making the same connection that his witch had and receiving a large grin in return before she returned to her pad of paper. The blonde vampire rose gracefully to his feet and went to stand behind the bookish slayer.

Spike watched with interest as she frantically scribbled Arithmancy calculations at lightening speed on her paper. He had taken the subject in school but these runic puzzles she was solving were beyond his own Hufflepuffian skill. So he turned his attention to her face; it glowed with excitement as the numbers and runes flowed out of her quill. The red plume, an obvious phoenix tail feather, scratched the lined notebook paper, her eyes glittering in the glow of the magical letters and numbers pulsing in a pale blue light as the brightness intensified.

When she'd stopped writing, they flashed in a cascade of starry fireworks until they converged together to form the rune of Odal, which had been turned on its side to form a fish-like shape before falling back onto the page and fading out. Maeve was breathing heavily, as though she'd just run a great distance. She sat back into her chair, a thin sheen of sweat covering her face as she looked up at the vampire.

"Have you ever cast a Patronus, William?" She asked in a breathy voice. He nodded looking down at her desk in awe.

"Once, in Defense Against the Dark Arts," he responded, still looking at the paper that glowed slightly in the dimmed room.

"What form did it take?" She asked, leaning forward, her voice anxious.

"You just saw it, love, a fish, a Ramora" he stated, glancing at her jumbled calculations and scanning down to the bottom of the page where the rune shaped like a fish stood out, large and still glowing. The brunette grinned, the first one he'd ever seen grace her face. The look was nearly predatory, her eyes flashing in excitement. "What does it mean?" He asked nervously.

"It means," she said picking up the notepad filled with her notations, "I've figured out how to fix you," Spike frowned, how could the runic symbol for inheritance solve his problem?

"How?" He asked in exasperation.

"Well… you, William, are not a ghost. Which makes my job substantially easier," she said ,walking past him and out the door..

"Wait, how does this help?" he yelled, picking up the pace to catch up to the Slayer as she made her way to Angel's office. She skidded to a stop and turned to face him but he kept running and went right through her. If she hadn't already guessed that he wasn't a ghost before this simple movement sealed her theory. Unlike the normal freezing cold associated with ghost William had felt like sunshine as he moved through her, a tingling warmth that brought a smile to her face. Spike started when he turned to around and saw her smiling face. She was radiant, glowing, as she sidled up next to him; nodding her head she indicated that they should continue to Angel's office together.

**End Chapter 3**

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	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.**

New and improved thanks to my wonderful beta, Melissa! Please R/R, it may get a chapter moving faster ;)

**Chapter 4 – Raw Wounds**

"And how does this help me get rid of him?" Angel asked the excited Witch after she'd explained her findings, most of which he didn't understand; not that he'd let her know that. He lent back in his chair and steepled his fingers at chest level. The Witch had burst into his office, nearly giddy, holding a glowing piece of paper that meant nothing to him. Something in him clenched, perhaps his walnut of a heart, when her expression changed at his words.

The Slayer crossed her arms over her maroon and black Wizarding robes with an aggravated sigh, cocking her head into a scowl. Despite the large number of people who called him friend or ally and the number of women whose heart he had stolen; he really was an ass. Maeve ran a hand through her loose curls, a long, shaky breath hissing from her nostrils. She felt a sudden, almost irresistible urge to curse this infuriating vampire. As her hand slid toward the wand holstered at her hip, William stepped forward, distracting her and diffusing a potentially dangerous situation.

"Peaches, stop being a bloody git and listen to the Witch," he grunted, wrapping his long, leather jacket around him as though he were cold. With a glance back at her, a quick wink unseen by Liam, and she was calm again.

"It helps because all I have to do now is find the proper spell or ceremony to match my calculations, preform said spell, he'll become corporeal again and thus able to leave the building. You then would be 'rid' of him, as it were," she still nearly growled at the Vampire in front of her. She found him so infuriating and wondered briefly what it was the vampire did for Wolfram and Hart other than sit at that huge desk and brood. He had done little to help her besides stay out of her way and go about ignoring her in quite a stellar fashion.

"Well then, why don't you go do that and don't forget to take him with you," he said pointing at the blonde spirit next to her. Maeve pushed away from the desk, moving the solid oak forward a few inches before turning towards Spike with an exasperated sigh. She leant into him; a wisp of honeysuckle and ink washing over him. Spike did his best to mask the fact that he was breathing in her scent and gave her his best 'what can I do for you, Pet?' expression.

"What is his problem?" she asked through her teeth, under her breath.

"I couldn't tell you, Liam's a git; he has been for centuries. He may have been one even before he was Sired but I didn't know him then," Spike shrugged as they walked out of the room, wrapping his long leather jacket around him. Maeve's triumphant smile was gone; her face had fallen. Something dark rose in her eyes for a moment, before fading.

A growl sprang up at the back of his throat as he looked back at Liam's closed door. When he was solid again he would make his Grandsire sorry he had been the cause of _his_ Slayer's current state. He failed to notice he thought of Maeve as his. Once they were in the room the dark haired woman threw, with a little more force than necessary, a pinch of emerald green powder into the fireplace.

"Albus Dumbledore," she stated, enunciating through clenched teeth and crossing her arms as she crouched in front of the magical flames. They waited a moment as the fire swirled from red to green. Suddenly, with a gust of heat and the scent of magic, the floating head of the Headmaster appeared.

"Maeve! William! So good to see you both," he exclaimed in excitement, addressing each one personally. The Vampire chuckled down at the old man while Maeve laughed outright; a sound that was surprisingly strong.

"Bee," Spike nodded, sitting cross legged next to his Slayer, his jacket and her robes flaring out, the leather of his laying on top of the brocade silk of hers.

"Willy, how have you been old man, well, besides being truly dead that is?" he asked with a twinkle and a chuckle behind his voice. Despite being raised in a pureblood household, Spike had never gotten used to speaking to disembodied heads. Talking via floo powder still managed to make his hair stand on end.

"I could ask you the same question, seeing as how you managed to rise from the from the grave yourself," he stated sardonically; even with all that had gone on in Sunnyhell he'd still managed to keep himself abreast of the goings on in the Wizarding world. The news of the old man's supposed death had pinched at his supposed un-beating heart.

They had been friends even before their acceptance to Hogwarts, their families traveling within the same high circles of society. So when Maeve had told him of the coot's miraculous rebirth at, what she had termed the Final Confrontation, he'd smiled. He nearly laughed at the wording, Final Confrontation; as though one battle could really stop evil from trying to take over.

"To true, to true," Dumbledore laughed, "But I'm sure you called for more than idle chit chat. Maeve, have you made any progress?"

"Yes, sir, I have. I'll be sending you my calculations but I wanted to know if I could make use of your _Vamprye Heritage Codex_. Even Wolfram and Hart can't get me a copy of that," she stated while Dumbledore's shaggy eyebrows raised in surprise. The old man seemed to be thinking deeply on the subject and for a brief moment Maeve feared he would deny her the text.

"Of course," he stated finally, "I'll send them with Fawkes once we're done,"

"Thank you, sir," she said with a sigh of relief, "I have some additional numbers I want to add into my theorem prior to sending them to you, I'll direct it before I leave for the evening,"

"Excellent, excellent Maeve, my dear. Willy, do you have time for a word?"

"Yeah," Spike said, lifting his hand to steady Maeve as she stood, a movement not unnoticed by the Headmaster. She nearly put her hand in his when they both seemed to remember that his corporeal abilities were shaky at best. But he smiled winningly up her as she straightened her robes, her hands running over the wide leather belt she wore under her bust to accentuate her waist.

She paused before turning towards her desk, noting the smile that came off of Spike while he spoke with the Headmaster was one of the few genuine ones Maeve had seen when he wasn't talking with Winifred or herself. It changed the room; like a window thrown open into a stuffy room, it brought in a breeze to remove the stagnant air. A change Maeve found she enjoyed as she shuffled through her papers, starting another set of Arithmancy equations adding Liam Angel into them.

"She's a hard worker, could have mistaken her for me own house," Spike chuckled resettling himself in front of the fire as he spoke with the current Headmaster of Hogwarts and his former best mate when he'd been human. They hadn't been face to face in over fifty years and Spike took stock in the age, the extra lines and worn expression two Wizarding wars had left on the man. The only things left unscathed were the glittering twinkle of mischief on the Gryffindor's eyes.

"She has always been a very determined woman. The Sorting Hat spent the longest on her than any I've ever seen. It told me once she was the perfect balance of every house and in the end it let her choose,"

"Really, I would have thought a Slayer would have picked Gryffindor," Spike stated thinking on Buffy for the first time in weeks. Her fiery spirit and her bravery against odds that would have sent most people running in the opposite direction. He'd often thought of her in terms of the red and gold house.

"Ahh, but she is from a long line of Ravenclaws, tradition you know," Albus said, looking at him over his half-moon glasses.

"Yes, long line of Huffs meself, on my mum's side. I was pondering on a thing, Bee. She tried to kill half the people here when she first came. Would have done a number on my person, weren't I already spiritifed and all. Then her attitude completely changes after her office is hooked up to the floo, why's that you think?" He asked pointedly keeping his voice low; though it wouldn't have mattered as the Slayer-Witch was currently very involved in the scratch of her quill on her Muggle lined paper.

"If you were wondering if I talked with her, yes I did. She begged me for reassignment but I knew she was best served by working with you. She needs this to heal," he said.

"Heal… from what? She doesn't talk much on the bad things in her life though we have a demon mind reader here that seems to know something that he won't say nothin' on," Spike asked, his dark brows furrowed.

"Your relative Lucius had her for a night. It would seem he was quite thorough with her. They met on the battlefield during the Final Confrontation with Tom Riddle, after she came into her Slayer Powers, which was something I hear we have a Wiccan to thank for. Needless to say, he didn't last very long after that. She was put on trial after the war because she'd used two unforgivables in battle, and though she was on the winning side the Ministry didn't want to appear soft. On _anyone_. She used Cruciatus and the Killing Curse; they weren't going to just let that go," Albus said solemnly.

Spike knew what it took to cast those curses, the rawness left in their wake as it ripped through the body, an irreparable wound on your soul as it tore though you. They weren't the wickedest spells he'd ever seen. There was more in heaven and hell that could condemn a soul, but they left the most damage on the caster. A near visible tear, that could devour a person whole if left untreated to wreak havoc on the body and soul.

"Has she seen a Medi-Witch about it?" He whispered, looking over at the Witch in question. For a fleeting moment he worried the darkness could be catching.

"Indeed Willy, it was the very first thing we did for her once she was released. Madam Pomfrey is the best in her field, years of dealing with Severus and all his magical backlashes has made her an expert in a way. But Maeve completely baffled her, her body chemistry as a Slayer is so much different from a regular Witch or Wizard that there was little we could do for her but to keep her busy. I have Severus working on a potion to mend the rift in her soul, but progress has been slow without her here,"

"Why send her here Bee, so broken? There have been days when she can hardly contain her anger. She's nearly killed Harmony and Liam more 'en once. Not that I care 'bout them two, mind, just worried it might put a bit of a damper on my becoming solid," Spike said, his voice taking on the lower class accent he had adopted after being turned the more agitated he became.

"Willy, she's the only Witch for the job. She has the proper experience and no one else at my disposal had her special talents," he stated.

"And what talents are those?" Spike asked, leaning forward.

"Oh… scones! She makes the most scrumptious lemon scones," Albus replied a twinkle and damnedably knowing smirk coming over his features,

"Willy you should really come to Scotland to visit, I haven't seen you in the flesh, as it were, in quite some time," he stated, changing the subject quickly. Spike let it go for now, but the conversation had created a spot of worry in his mind for Maeve. He frowned at the Headmaster's comment wondering if the man had gone dotty.

"Albus, Vampire," he stated, shifting his face in quick succession to prove his point, "I can't even step foot onto the grounds of Hogwarts" he said sardonically.

"Ah, but as the Headmaster I have the power to invite you," Albus replied, his shaggy eyebrows waggling in response.

"Then why bloody hell haven't you?" he shouted indignantly.

"Most likely because you have only recently acquired a soul, William," came a voice from behind Spike. It was sparrow quiet, the barest flapping of sound but with an exasperated hiss to it. Both men, wizard and vampire, looked to where Maeve sat. Her head was down and her riot of curls barely brushed the desktop. She still scratched away at the glowing equation, her eyes trained on the paper.

"Did you say something my dear?" Albus asked innocently, hoping to see more interaction between the two. Willy had been right when he had said Maeve wanted out of this assignment, but her behavior towards the vampire seemed to contradict the pleading way she'd originally asked to be reassigned.

"You heard me, or at least William did," she stated without looking up from her parchment, her brows furrowed either in concentration or aggravation.

"How can she do Arithmancy, listen to us and talk at the same time?" Spike asked, hoping she hadn't heard their conversation regarding her.

"Speaking and simple comprehension doesn't require as much brain power as you think. Magical mathematical equations are my specialty and are thus second nature," she said, finally lifting her head and meeting Spike's eyes. He smirked, she'd sounded like Fred for a moment.

"Been spending time with the flighty Bird have we?" He asked in a softly mocking tone.

"Winifred and I get on well so I see no problem in our interacting on a more personal level. Would you rather I hang out with Harmony?" she questioned wickedly, lifting her eyebrow at him and a smirk very reminiscent of his own covering her face.

"No love, I don't think many can handle more than a few minutes with that crazy bit of ditsy," Spike said. Albus watched the two, his sparkle nearing blinding proportions, as they snipped playfully at each other

"Well, children, is there anything else? Minister Weasley and I are meeting for tea in an hour and I still need to oversee the mailing of next year's Acceptance letters," the Headmaster broke in cheerfully.

"No, I just really need that text before I can make much more headway, Sir" Maeve said from her desk.

"I'll do that, my dear," he said, nodding, "think on what I've said, Willy, and I want to see the both of you once Willy's no longer able to walk through walls,"

"Yes, sir," they both said, Spike's words were mocking as the Headmaster disappeared and the magical flames died down.

**End Chapter 4**


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